Snape: The Cook We Never Knew
by Rose Lupin
Summary: "Wunky" the Hogwarts chef is ill, and it's up to Snape to cook a gourmet meal for the students, or lose his job. Will he succeed or not?


Author Note: One night, while high on caffine and sugar, I and some friends came up with the name Wunky. Well, to make the story short, I felt sorry for Wunky and decided to put him in a story. I hope you enjoy it. Yes, Wunky is spelled correctly. Some of ya'll thought it was a huge grammar mistake but nah-ah! So please be nice.  
  
Dedicated: Those of you who have read my stories know I love to throw humor in them most of the time, so here is a just for you! Also dedicated to poor Wunky! : )  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any HP character. I own Wunky so MINE! : ) Don't you dare touch.  
  
- - - -  
  
Long after the reign of Voldermort had ended and the death eaters slowly decrease over the coming years, we find that the magical school in the distance from London lays untouched by all involved in the war. However, Hogwarts had kept a secret that hadn't been known about until its discovery by the Weasley twins in their second year: Wunky.  
  
Unlike other servants and free elves, our tiny hero hated both work and socks, which basically makes him an unhappy, jobless, sock less elf which is reason enough to keep him hidden away. Within the kitchen, however, he prepares the meals. No, he isn't boiling over a hot stove nor cutting fine carrots with his Cutter 2000, but creating the recipes that were to be made. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, our little hero was a chef, hopping around bootless and barefoot from one place to another as new ideas formed in his mind. To many in his area, a chef wasn't a job but rather a task. He would twirl his black moustache (fake, of course) and stomp his feet in gibbering rage if something wasn't right.  
  
One day, while in the kitchen, our small elf suddenly faints.  
  
Clunk!  
  
And poor bootless, sockless, jobless Wunky with a pitiful poor fake black mustache lay on the floor in a puddle of pumpkin juice and chocolate frogs, having come down with a cold.  
  
All the servant elves cried out: What were they going to do? Who would cook for them? The rushed to Dumbledore's office one by one and, not knowing the password, simply squeezed under the door and waited, watching Smurfs cartoons in the pensive all the while they sat.  
  
Finally Dumbledore came in, followed by Snape, the Potions professor. Snape was in his usual foul mood, and sneered at the elves.  
  
"Dumbledore! Help! Wunky is sick!" One cried out.  
  
"Wunky helpless, he is!" Another elf cried out.  
  
Dumbledore shook his head sadly, for Wunky had always been a faithful chef despite his bad moustache and bootless habits.  
  
"Can't another one of you cook?" He asked shortly later.  
  
"No, no! We know not how!"  
  
From behind Dumbledore, a sneer was heard.it was Snape. A sudden twinkle came to his eyes. "Professor Snape?"  
  
Snape eyed Dumbeldore. "Yes?"  
  
"I have a task for you."  
  
"What?" He looked uneasy now.  
  
"Have you.ever had experience in cooking?"  
  
Snape looked foul. "ME? Cook?" He huffed. "Never!"  
  
"Well, professor, you're about to learn." Dumbledore winked once at the elves. "Will you be so kind as to escort our professor down to the kitchen? I believe he hasn't had the pleasure of visiting it for years now."  
  
"No!" Snape cried. "Wait!"  
  
It was too late though, for the elves had already dragged Snape down to the kitchen, having tickled the pear picture before entering; small hands grabbing him here and there before, at last, Snape looked (dare we say it?) a chef!  
  
On top of his head was a pointy chef hat, around his waist a flower aparon, and on his upper lip sat the worst looking mustache that ever dared trend across another's lip.  
  
Snape looked in the dirty mirror before him, jaw dropping. He a chef! In a flower aparon! And that mustache!  
  
He almost fainted into the puddle of pumpkin juice that poor Wunky had fallen into earlier, but recovered with the help of the others around him. They shoved a menu in his hands, tossed spices of all sorts before him, and had their full attention, little beady eyes looking up in question.  
  
"Enough!" Snape cried, throwing off his hat. He tried ripping off the mustache but it wouldn't budge: it must have been glued on! He stormed to the doorway but found no door in its place.he was trapped!  
  
"Let me out! Let me out!" He raged, banging against the wall. The elves wouldn't let him though, and so he knew he had no choice but to cook. To cook! Furthermore, he knew that if he were to disobey Dumbledore, the position for the Dark Arts class wouldn't be his for sure. He had to create a good meal!  
  
"All right," Snape sneered, pulling a handful of garlic to the counter. "You win!" For the next two hours, he spent ordering one elf here and another there, his chef hat bouncing up and down as he yelled. He cooked and cooked, testing every course he created until sickness over-whelmed him. Even then, he tasted more.  
  
"Alas!" cried Snape. "We're done!"  
  
All the elves cheered as Snape raised his ladal, pleased. He climbed up the stairs, having found the door at long last. Marching into Dumbledore's office, he snorted.  
  
"There! I've finished! Let me leave there!"  
  
Dumbledore looked at Snape amusedly; Snape pulling off the hat and aparon as he walked through the door. "Very well, Snape. You may leave."  
  
Snape heaved a sigh and began heading towards the door when Dumbledore called back.  
  
"You know, Snape, Wunky will be out for a few days."  
  
"No, you can't make me do anymore cooking! I refuse!"  
  
"Very well, Snape. But just remember, that moustache will stay with you a VERY long time." Dumbledore said, twinkle in his eye returning; to Snape's great horror, the mustache was still STUCK! Waiting a moment to sulk, Snape gruff a somewhat yielding answer, he added. "Lunch is in an hour. Better start!" 


End file.
